


pov: you and the boys up at 3am looking for beans (and dying)

by foxmulder_whereartthou



Category: Original Work
Genre: Femme Fatale, Gen, Guns, POV Third Person, Russian Roulette, Smoking, also can you tell im gay??? women, wrote this for english class posting it literally just because of the title. enjoy gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmulder_whereartthou/pseuds/foxmulder_whereartthou
Summary: they've got a confidant. too bad she's scarier than they thought.a surprisingly (and saddeningly) little amount of the title is true to the fic.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	pov: you and the boys up at 3am looking for beans (and dying)

In the stifling mist of a late night mid-july, four people leave a taxi, their faces obscured by cigarette somke and the froth of dusk melting away. Only three return the next morning, a friend shorter but an eternity wiser.

Their destination is much larger on the inside than it seems to be from it's outward appearance, twisting hallways line with decaying maroon carpets that were once a vicious, biting red and peeling, yellowed wallpaper, stained by the ash of a thousand cigars, the damage irrevocable. At the end of one of the longer routes stands a single, dark wooden door, polished to perfection.

The ceiling flakes down in pieces as the lead of their group, after a brief, desperate moment of deliberation, knocks, and then delicately twists the shining doorknob to come face to face wih the one they were looking for. The femme fatale.

They've kept her waiting - she doesn't like that. Twisting her long cigarette holder between her fingers, she sizes them up, a lioness examining her prey.

"Sit," she scowls, standing up from behind her desk to tower over them.

"That wasn't a suggestion, it was a demand. Sit."

The men take their seats, one, smaller and fresh-faced, clutching the lapels of his jacket with a shaking hand.

"It's information you're looking for, is it not?"

"Yes, ma'am," the black-suited man begins, but she hastily cuts him off.

"I'm going to need a trade." Her guests quickly glace at each other, nervously checking their pockets, but-

"Oh, oh no, I won't need any money. I'd just like you to partake in a game I like to play."

And with a single, white-gloved finger, she slides the revolver across the desk towards them.


End file.
